In April and November
by run with the doctor
Summary: Anzac Days through the years for Jim, Wally and Norah, after the terror of World War I.
1. 1920

**_Anzac Day 1920_**

It's exactly five years since the day their generation was destroyed.

On April 25th, 1915, countless lads — including some that Jim and Wally knew — went to their deaths.

Wally sits on a bench in the square of Cunjee, studying the sky above. It's blue, just like the water was before the Anzacs landed. Now and then, a white cloud drifts across his field of vision.

To him, it feels all wrong that he should sit here, his heart beating a quick tattoo within his body, his skin warm and more tanned than when he first went to war as a teenager six years ago, while his mates lie sleeping below the earth in a foreign land.

Today doesn't just remind him of those friends, though; memories spring to him of other comrades who bravely fought and fell in Flanders fields. Those crosses and poppies are the stuff of legend now, but he was there. Too many of those crosses were made by him.

He drops his head, closing his eyes and interlocking his fingers on his knees as the faint strains of a bugle reach his ears. It doesn't take much for him to be taken back to France, sitting in a dugout as night falls, praying that the Last Post will come to relieve them of the day's fighting.

So deep in memory is he that he barely acknowledges at first the touch on his shoulder, light at first, then becoming more insistent. Faintly, he hears his name being uttered in a female voice.

 _It has to be a trap. The Germans have sent a woman to spy on us._

He shoots up into a standing position, turning to catch at the woman's arm, then freezing as he sees who it is.

Norah Linton stands before him, her eyes wide and one hand over her mouth. She looks scared. Scared of him. And then he realizes that it was she who drew him from his flashback.

For several moments they stand there, staring at each other, before he pulls her into a hug that is equal parts an apology and a comfort — to both of them. She is stiff at first, but then relaxes into his embrace, burying her head into his shoulder.

His best friend. His almost-sister.

 _Why am I like this? Why do I hurt the people closest to me?_

Against the rough fabric of his dress uniform, reluctantly worn to mark the day, she whispers words of assuagement. The very fact that she does not blame him makes him war with himself more.

Of course, it isn't the first time she's witnessed him in the midst of his suffering, and it won't be the last. However, he wonders how many more times she'll have to witness it before he finally recovers. If he will ever recover.

Shaking his head minutely, he holds Norah closer and breathes in the scent of her hair. The world is behind, and home is ahead. He'll never forget the brave boys and men who died alongside him and across the sea.

Some folk he'll never forget. Some kind he'll never forgive.


	2. 1922

**_Anzac Day 1922_**

To Jim Linton, this Anzac Day is different to all the ones which have gone before. Things have changed, they are all moving on at last.

There's no service in the square this year, not for the Billabong contingent. Rather, Jim rises at dawn and stands on the verandah outside his bedroom, looking in the direction of the rising sun in the east.

 _Reveille._

It's the start of a new day, and four years ago he would have been standing to, prepared for an onslaught that might or might not come.

 _Was it only four years ago? It feels like a lifetime ago._

Only once does he break his gaze from the eastern horizon, cutting it towards a building partially hidden from the original homestead by a belt of trees. Little Billabong is a month old, and is everything which signals change.

This morning, instead of standing on the verandah beside him, Wally and Norah are in their own house, separated by the trees from the ancestral home.

Jim suddenly feels a wave of loneliness wash over him, and he berates himself mentally to get a grip. None of them could have remained children forever. Why, it was only two weeks ago that Norah, jokingly, had told him that his turn would come sooner rather than later.

 _My turn for what? To find happiness?_

He looks towards the horizon again, where the first rays are starting to poke over the flats, lighting up the sky a brilliant gold. Only once or twice a year in Flanders would he see a sunrise such as this; here at home, they are fairly prevalent.

Unconsciously, one hand comes up as he turns to salute the rising sun, a roll of names running through his mind. Names of those who did not last the night.

A voice pulls him from his reverie, and he drops his hand and looks over the verandah. Standing in the yard below, in comfortable civilian clothes and holding togs, is Wally.

His brother-in-arms. His brother-in-law. His brother.

Wally calls out again, exhorting him to come to the lagoon for a dip, and Jim raises a finger, asking him to wait a moment, before diving back into the house to dress and retrieve his swimming clothes.

Out of anybody at Billabong, it is Wally who understands the most. They were there together, in rain, hail and shine, as the men around them fell or left and were replaced by fresh faces.

On the way to the lagoon, Wally brings it up, and they walk in silence for a moment. Then, Wally suddenly says the name of a fellow who had been in the same footy team as him, and they laugh together over old schoolday memories.

The world has changed forever, but one thing which will never change is his friendship with Wally. When others pay the ultimate sacrifice, it is his best friend who will struggle back from the brink with a joke on his lips and a smile for Jim's sister.

Finally, he might just be starting to fully accept the change for what it is: growth, and harbinger of happiness.


	3. 1924

**_Anzac Day 1924_**

This ninth anniversary of Anzac Day feels to Norah Meadows like any other day. She has woken up at five o'clock in the morning, simply because her son refuses to sleep.

Nine years ago — six, even — her baby was not even dreamt of, and yet was the focus of the Allies' campaign. For him and his generation, they fought to save the world and bring peace to it.

 _They were schoolboys._

Some of those who landed at Gallipoli were under-age, fellows from her year level, the class of 1916. She knew them, had participated in Combined Choirs with them. Their lives had been tragically cut short before they could finish their schooling.

Davie makes a noise and she turns to look at him, playing on the floor, oblivious to the feelings running high. He is an innocent, ignorant to the horrors of the Shade that his father witnessed.

How can two generations of boys of the same family be so similar, and yet so different?

For Wally's experiences give him an almost grave air at times, whilst his son is nothing but happy and light. They look exactly alike, but Flanders lies in Wally's past.

It has been just over a year since Norah gave birth to her son, delivering him screaming into the world just after midnight in early autumn. From his first moments, when he was laid in her arms, she knew that the efforts of the Anzacs and their allies were not in vain.

With a sigh, she leans down to sweep her fingers through Davie's already messy black hair, before leaving his room and finding her way back down the hall to the one she shares with Wally. She yawns, hand coming out to support herself against the wall as she stumbles momentarily, before continuing on.

In the doorway of their bedroom, she stands for a moment, observing Wally. He is sprawled out on the bed, one foot stuck out the side, a far cry from the trenches he woke up in on April 25th, 1915. There is nothing in the scene before her to indicate that today is different from any other day.

When she yawns again, she knows that it's time to go back to sleep. Throwing back the blankets, she crawls back into bed, feeling Wally unconsciously slide an arm over her waist and pull her close.

The last thing she sees before she falls asleep are two photographs on the mantelpiece: one of Jim, the other of Wally, both in army uniform. They are young, teenagers with the fire of the Anzacs in their eyes, chins raised, grinning at the camera in a carefree manner.

Those times are long since past, she thinks drowsily. Both her boys are home safe, and even though the face of the world is changed forever, it is a peaceful one for her baby son.


End file.
